


all i'm really asking for is you

by kelbivdevoe



Category: Gangsta. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 10:22:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelbivdevoe/pseuds/kelbivdevoe
Summary: You never expected a first anniversary with Worick, but here you are, one year later.





	all i'm really asking for is you

**Author's Note:**

> This is way fluffier than intended. A lot of wishful thinking. I just want the Benriyas to have a happy ending.
> 
> Title from Beyonce's Mine.

You stir at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Fear clutches at your chest until you recognize the familiar combination of sounds: Nicolas’ heavy, slow steps mixed with Worick’s lighter, quicker ones. The clock on the bedside table reads 1:18, making it a relatively early night for Benriya.

You close your eyes with a sleepy noise, listening to both men move around the apartment, surely having a silent conversation with their hands. All you can hear is the rustle of jackets and shirts before the sound of Nicolas’ feet fade down the basement stairs.

The bedroom door opens and closes gently and you suddenly feel Worick’s weight pressed against you, fitting himself against your body as he slides one arm around your waist. You smile a little into your pillow as he nuzzles into your hair with a soft sigh, letting his whole weight ease against you.

You reach up, stroking his forearm absently. The soft blonde hair covering it tickles your palm, a sensation that hasn’t lost it’s luster despite the countless times you’ve done it.

“Did I wake you?” He asks quietly, tightening his grip on you briefly once he realizes you’re awake.

“No, I was up…” You murmur, voice so thick with sleep it makes you sound like a liar. “How did it go?”

“They didn’t stand a chance against us,” He grins, referring to the small time gambling ring Chad had sent them to break up on the other side of town.

“I live with such dangerous men.” You smile sleepily. It’s true. Sometimes you forget what kind of men they are.

Worick chuckles into your hair, blue eye dropping closed for a moment. You lay there together, engulfed in the comfortable silence as you feel his heartbeat against your back, a little quicker than usual.

“It’s January 7th,” He murmurs into your hair and you’re suddenly awake.

“Happy anniversary!” You blurt, turning around and pressing an excited kiss against his lips. He laughs in surprise and pulls you fully against his bare chest, returning the kiss with delight.

“Happy anniversary!” He exclaims against your lips, large hands stroking up and down over your back warmly.

You honestly never expected to make it this far. Everything seemed stacked in the odds of you barely making it past the first 2 weeks of the relationship. It shouldn’t have worked, but it _did_ , and now you can’t fathom the thought of a life without Worick.

“Is this your first first anniversary too?” You ask, reaching up and pulling his eyepatch off gently.

“It is,” He admits, resting his forehead lightly against yours. Pride swells in your chest from his admission—Worick doesn’t have many firsts left at this stage in his life, but this is one you never have to share with another woman. This one means something.

“I’m glad I waited for you,” You tell him softly, pressing your face into his shoulder and fighting back the sentimental lump growing in your throat.

“I don’t think I could’ve lasted one more day.” He breathes against your temple, and makes a noise in the back of his throat as he feels the dampness from your tears on his shoulder.

“Hey…” He tips up your chin, looking both amused and touched at the sudden waterworks. “I didn’t think I’d make you cry until at _least_ our 10th anniversary.”

“Are you thinking that far ahead already?” You laugh, voice thick with tears.

He wipes at your eyes with his thumb, blue eye shining.

“I’m thinking forever.”

xxx

  
A tuft of black hair pops up over the back of Nicolas’ armchair as the smell of bacon fills the room and he slowly raises his head to fully to peer at you, almond shaped eyes still blurry with sleep.

You grin at him and point to the pan with the fork in your hand. He nods and drags a hand down over his face before climbing to his feet, stretching and contorting his body in such a way that looks borderline painful. His joints pop loudly and he sighs in relief, walking over to get some juice from the fridge.

_Are you going to be okay by yourself this weekend?_ You sign. Nicolas looks positively insulted, making a point to not answer until his juice is poured and polished off.

_I’m not a child._ He juts out his jaw, daring you to disagree.

_Just promise me you’re going to eat something that’s part of an actual food group._ You sign, moving the now crispy bacon to a plate on the counter.

“NoPe.” He grabs a piece of bacon and takes a hard bite before walking towards the bathroom. He pauses and signs ‘happy anniversary’ before disappearing inside and closing the door with a loud click.

You roll your eyes with a smile and bring the bacon upstairs to where Worick is still snoozing, one arm tossed over his eyes. There’s a bit of drool hanging from the side of his mouth but he’s somehow still attractive. It’s maddening.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey,” You call, and he makes a borderline frightening noise in the back of his throat before lifting his arm away from his face.  
“We should get on the road soon, huh?” You remind him as he wipes the side of his mouth before sniffing the air and zeroing in on the bacon.

“We’ll leave at 10,” He announces, sitting up and popping a piece of bacon into his mouth with a happy noise.

“It’s 10:30.”

“We’ll leave at 11,” He corrects, lips shining with grease. “Check in time isn’t until 2 o’clock anyway.”

Worick had booked a room for the both of you at one of the high end hotels a few hours outside of town. A client had taken him there a few years prior and it had obviously made an impression on him, having promised himself he'd go back there for a special occasion, one on his terms. You were most excited about being able to publicly be a couple, to be able to hold hands and do all the other disgustingly romantic things people do out in the open.

You crouch in front of his bookshelf, eyes scanning the titles for something to read on the road. Your eyebrows raise a little at a trio of familiar books and you pull one off the shelf, holding it up with a grin.

“Please tell me why you have this.”

“Research!” Worick replies, half-defensive about having such trash mixed in among the classic novels that he typically favours. “It was good for business.”

“Mm, I’m sure you enjoyed it a little,” You tease, thankful that he skimped on the details.

“Please,” He scoffs, draping an arm over a bent knee and fixing you with a look that never fails to make you squirm. “I’ve thought things about you that would make Christan Grey blush like a schoolgirl.”

He stands up and stretches, making sure you get a full view of his frustratingly perfect body before speaking again.

“Things I plan on doing to you all weekend.”

Now you’re the one blushing like a schoolgirl.

xxx

“Come on~” Worick whines through the bathroom door, shifting from foot to foot like an impatient child as you finish buckling the straps on your high heels.

“I’m coming~” You reply, standing up and checking your hair in the mirror. True, you’ve been in here for the better part of an hour and a half, but you want to look good for him. First anniversary good.

The look on his face is worth every minute you spent in the bathroom. He lets out a low whistle, eye darkening as he takes in every aspect of your appearance. His gaze lingers on the way the dress hugs the curves of your body before he reaches out, pulling you against his chest. His large hands slide down to your ass, rubbing it slowly.

“Dinner can wait, can't it?” He purrs, biting down on his lower lip. Part of you wants to agree, because Worick has _also_ put in the effort to look first anniversary good, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit and tie, his hair pulled into a bun at the back of his head. He looks fucking edible, if you’re being perfectly honest, but you’re adults with prior commitments.

“We have a reservation,” You laugh, pushing at his chest as he squeezes your ass in response.

“You know I don’t need that long to make you come,” He murmurs, and it takes every single ounce of self-control in your body to wriggle away.

“Dessert comes _after_ dinner, baby,” You smile, trying to keep your tone light when it feels like your entire body is on fire.

“You’re right,” Worick acquiesces, but it doesn't keep him from grabbing your ass again on the way out of the hotel room.

xxx

The restaurant is fancier than the hotel, if possible. It’s the kind of restaurant where the waiter pulls out your chair and puts the napkin on your lap. The kind where a bottle of wine costs more than your entire outfit. The kind where the entire menu is in French.

You begin sweating profusely as the waiter walks away from your table.

“Worick,” You hiss over the top of your menu. “There’s four forks here. Four glasses. Last night I ate hummus with a bookmark.”

Worick looks over and grins at you, looking weirdly comfortable. He lowers his menu and begins pointing.

“Salad fork, fish fork, meat fork, dessert fork. Water glass, red wine glass, white wine glass, champagne class.”

You stare at him.

“Soup spoon.”

“How.”

“I learned it growing up.”

It's the first time in a year he’s mentioned his childhood, a topic that he avoids like the plague. You know not to press on it, but can’t help but feel warm about the fact he opened up about it, even a little.

  
“Any chance you learned French too?” You ask jokingly. There's no way.

“Actually…”

There’s still so much to learn about Worick.

xxx

You’ve lost track of time. All you know is that you’re pleasantly full of French food, your head is buzzing with French wine, and this has been one of the best nights of your life.

“Ready for dessert?” Worick asks, voice dripping with so much innuendo you can practically see it.

“Yes _please_ ,” You purr, knowing how much he enjoys hearing that word in bed.

It looks like he’s about to bend you the table and take you right there in front of God and all these rich people, but he composes himself somehow.

“I’ll get the car and you get the coats,” He suggests, climbing to his feet and buttoning his suit jacket, hoping to cut down on as much time as he can between the restaurant and the hotel.

“And I’ll pee,” You add, wobbling ever so slightly as you stand up.

He laughs, reaching out a hand to steady you.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long~”

You’re practically beaming on the way to the bathroom, weaving through the tables and pushing open the heavy oak door. There’s an attendant standing there (another sign this place is way too fancy) and you give her a smile before heading into one of the stalls. You try to go as quickly as possible due to the fact there’s a woman standing outside and hearing literally everything. Yanking your dress down around your thighs, you hurry over to the sink.

A redheaded woman practically dripping in diamonds comes breezing in, checking her makeup in the mirror and gazing at you out of the corner of her eye with a small smile as you scrub your hands with soap that would probably make you shudder at the price.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” She asks you suddenly, and you look around to make sure she’s actually talking to you.

“Sorry, who…?” You blink, reaction time a bit dulled from the wine.

“Worick, of course! Is it your first time as a client?”

A _client_.

_She’s_ a client.

Your stomach drops and begins churning at the same time. You’re suddenly, painfully sober.

“No, I’m…I’m not a client.” You reply dismissively, turning your attention back to the sink and hoping she gets the hint.

“Of course you’re not, dear. I haven’t been a client of his for 3 years either. Nor do I have a standing appointment on Wednesdays. My husband thinks I’ve been going to yoga class.” She winks, thinking you’re trying to be discreet and getting in on the joke.

You’re going to puke in the sink.

“I’m _not_ a client,” You repeat, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice.

The woman looks at you with amusement.

“So what is he to you?”

“He’s my boyfriend.” It sounds stupid and childish the second it comes out of your mouth and you press your lips together, regretting even telling her. Boyfriend is too simple a term for Worick.

“He’s everyone’s boyfriend for a price, sweetheart. You’re not special.” She goes back to looking at herself in the mirror, brushing an errant curl away from her face. “Don’t get attached to people like him. They’ll only break your heart.”

You clench your teeth together so hard it feels like they creak in protest. You’re not going to cry in front of this woman. You refuse to cry in front of this woman.

“Well, good luck~” She says breezily, giving you one last look. “Pretty dress, by the way.”

And like that, she’s gone. The bathroom attendant gives you a sympathetic look and it only makes your throat grow tighter. The walk from the bathroom to the coat room feels like an eternity. You don’t even remember giving your coat tickets to the man behind the counter, or even getting outside.

Worick smiles warmly from inside the car as he sees you coming out of the restaurant but you can’t even bear to look at him. All you can think about is him with her. Every week for the last 3 years. When Worick says ‘client’, you’ve always pictured a faceless entity. It’s easy to think of them that way, to not have a visual. Now you have one, someone’s who’s real and terrible and says you’re not special.

“I thought you’d fallen in,” He jokes as you climb inside, fastening your seatbelt and putting the coats in the backseat.

You give him a weak smile before he shifts the car into drive, pulling slowly out onto the city street.

“ _I gotta look at her in her eyes and see that she’s had half of me_ ,”  Beyoncé sings though the speakers and you turn off the radio with a snap.

“I thought you loved that song,” Worick blinks in surprise, looking over at you.

It feels like you’re going to choke on the lump in your throat.

He says your name, reaching out and closing his hand around your knee.

“What’s wrong?” He asks gently, getting more concerned the longer you’re silent.

“Can we talk about it back at the hotel?” You ask shakily, not tearing your gaze from the window.

“Yeah, of course…” He replies worriedly, pulling his hand away from your knee and chewing on his thumb with a frown.

There’s nothing but silence on the way back.

xxx

“Can you _please_ talk to me now?” Worick practically bursts the second you walk into your hotel room. He had smoked about 10 cigarettes on the way back, puffing smoke with growing agitation every passing minute of the drive.

You toss your coats onto the bed and sit slowly next to them, exhaling slowly. You’d needed the entire drive to compose yourself, to stop yourself from saying something you’d regret.

“I met your Wednesday appointment in the bathroom,” You tell him softly, throat tightening.

“Oh, honey…” He breathes, expression softening immediately. He knows how difficult his job can be on you. “I didn’t know she’d be there, I’m so sorry.” He walks over and kneels at your feet, taking your hands in his.

“She’s terrible.” You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the tears leaking past your eyelashes.

“She is,” He admits with a frown. “And she’s no longer a client, starting today.”

It makes you feel better. Slightly.

“She said you’re going to break my heart.”

There it is, the thing you fear the most. The nagging thought in the back of your head the moment he kissed you for the first time. She’d said it and brought it to life.

Worick says your name fiercely, squeezing your small hands in his.

“Look at me. I would rather die than hurt you, you know that?”

“Maybe you won’t mean to!” You blurt, thoughts flooding out of your mouth like someone had broken the dam keeping them held back. “You might get a new client, someone beautiful and funny and incredible and…”

  
_Fall in love with her._ You can’t bear to say it out loud. To even think about it makes your chest feel like it’s about to split open.

“I won’t,” He says, gazing at you steadily. He doesn’t even hesitate.

“You don’t know that, Worick,” You sigh softly, and his grip tightens on your hands. His thumbs are bleeding slightly, chewed raw.

“It’s the only thing I know for sure.”

_You’re not special._ The woman’s voice rings in your head again and your chest twists painfully.

“You could have anyone you want. Be with anyone you want.”

“I could have,” He admits, giving you the smile he reserves only for you. It’s soft and warm and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. “But I waited for _you_.”

“Don’t use my own words on me,” You half laugh, half cry, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

He takes your face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over your tear-stained cheeks.

‘When I said forever, I meant it.” He presses his lips against yours firmly, like he’s trying to make you feel the extent of his emotion. Somehow, you do, kissing him back with equal fervor. He stands up and you move back on the bed as he climbs on top of you, kissing you a little more gently than the last time.

You kiss until your mouth almost aches, until both of you are panting and flushed. His jacket lays discarded on the floor, your fingers having made short work of his tie and buttons on his shirt. His broad chest heaves up and down slightly as you both sit up and he pulls your dress over your head before throwing it on the floor where he believes it belongs.

He presses his face into your neck, lips and tongue moving over your skin as he unhooks your bra with a deft hand, pulling it off and easing you onto your back. You take a moment to reach behind him and pull his hair out of the tight bun, watching it fall around his face and making you lose your breath all over again.

He lifts his head and flashes you a grin when he notices your expression.

“You’re beautiful,” You tell him breathlessly, fingers winding greedily through his thick hair. He leans into your touch and gives you a thankful kiss.

“Not as beautiful as you…” He murmurs against your lips, dragging his mouth down your neck as his hands close around your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples and making you squirm.

“…or the sounds you make.” He ducks his head and drags his tongue over one of the hardened nubs of flesh, making you whimper in response.

You arch into the warmth of his mouth as he begins to suck, relishing the feeling of his stubble scraping your skin. The heat pools between your legs quickly with every flicker of his experienced tongue and lips. He doesn’t stop until your chest is aching with overstimulation and you’re on the almost painful verge of climax.

“Worick, please…” You mewl softly as his fingers press lightly against your swollen clit through the thin material of your panties.

“Mm, I wanna hear it. Please what?” He presses a little harder with his fingers and it’s hard to even remember your name.

“Please make me come, wanna come, please…” You beg breathlessly, knowing what he wants to hear.

Worick purrs as the corners of his mouth pull into a smile, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your panties that are practically soaked through. He eases them off before spreading your legs, and you slide your hands into his hair in anticipation, panting.

He settles on his stomach and the sound he makes as he drags his tongue up your pussy is absolutely pornographic. Your hips jerk into his touch as his tongue grazes against your clit with every swipe, lapping slowly at your folds.

You moan, tugging slightly on his hair as he finally closes his mouth around your clit, sucking languidly. He increases the pressure of his mouth slowly, letting the sensation build until you’re nothing but a writhing mess beneath him. The weight of your orgasm hits you suddenly, and you let out a cry that people in the lobby probably heard.

“Oh my god…” You breathe, squeezing your eyes shut as he holds your legs open, working you off through the aftershocks of your climax.

He pulls his mouth off of you with an obscene smack, leaning up and kissing you deeply. You can feel the press of his cock between your legs—he loves how easily he can get you off. Fumbling with his belt takes a second but you manage to get it open, pushing his pants and boxers down enough to let his cock spring free. You close your fingers around it, stroking him slowly as he lets out a hiss of breath between his teeth.

He shifts and sits up, rubbing your wetness over his cock before sliding into you with a low groan. You gasp softly, taking a moment to adjust to his size even after all this time. Your fingers twist in the bedsheets as he begins fucking you in a slow, building rhythm, his hips snapping against yours with every thrust.

You smile breathlessly as he leans over, intertwining your fingers together and pressing your hands over your head with his own. The added leverage makes it easy for him to pound into you, the headboard hitting the wall noisily with every movement.

“I love you,” He pants, the movements of his hips beginning to stutter as he gets closer to the edge.

“I love you too,” You breathe, squeezing his hands as he buries himself inside you one last time with a ragged groan. He reaches down and begins rubbing your clit furiously with calloused fingers, gritting his teeth as you come around his cock with a loud moan.

The two of you wriggle under the soft blankets of your hotel bed once you’ve both caught your breath, physically drained. He lays on his side, one arm outstretched in your direction that you immediately start using as a pillow, gazing at you thoughtfully.

You wonder briefly why he hasn’t gone to get a cigarette yet, the post-coital ritual he’s never missed.

“Now you’re being the quiet one,” You murmur with a smile, dragging your fingers absently over the soft hair on his chest. “Say something.”

Worick’s eye flickers over your face, pulling you against him with his other arm.

“Marry me.”


End file.
